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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357268">before those hands pulled me from the earth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/limerental/pseuds/limerental'>limerental</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Yenralt Valentines [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crying During Sex, F/M, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Tenderness, Valentine's Day Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:54:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,465</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29357268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/limerental/pseuds/limerental</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite neither of them having any idea how to navigate romantic gestures, Yennefer makes an effort to do something special for Geralt for Valentine's Day.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Yenralt Valentines [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136729</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>A Very Yenralt Valentine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>before those hands pulled me from the earth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>content warning</b> for just gooey nasty tenderness, implied past abuse/trauma/neglect on Yen and Geralt's part, not really explicit sex, romance, and the title is not a tswift lyric but it's a hozier lyric which may be just as embarrassing</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The apartment was dark and silent when Geralt returned from work. Odd. Yen had told him not to stop off anywhere coming home, that she had plans for tonight, but now that he was home, he was wishing he’d grabbed some beer at least.</p><p>He must have misunderstood, wrongfully assuming her plans included him. Yen was likely already out somewhere with her friends, and he would have the apartment to himself tonight. Which wasn't anything he was unused to. He spent years of weekend nights alone before Yen stumbled into his life, and he couldn’t expect Yen to devote all of her time to him alone. She had a life beyond him, same as Geralt did.</p><p>Though he couldn't help but remember that today was their first Valentine’s Day officially together, as well as a few days shy of the anniversary of their first meeting. Geralt remembered these things, important dates and milestones, though he understood why Yennefer did not. She had made it clear that romantic gestures made her uncomfortable, that she could not stomach flowers or chocolates or cliched verse or even dedicated date nights.</p><p>Which was fortunate for Geralt, because he felt woefully lost when it came to gift-giving and planned celebrations, possibly because he had never had any framework for anything like that. He'd expressed this to her a few weeks ago, that this was his first serious relationship and growing up in the foster system meant no extravagant birthdays, no gagging over parents’ romantic endeavors, no sticking in one place long enough to even have milestones to celebrate.</p><p>Which may be as a good a reason as any why Geralt kept such careful track of the anniversaries of their first meeting, first kiss, first <em>I love you</em>.</p><p>Why it felt strange and hollow that Yennefer was not interested in commemorating them.</p><p>For a while there, he and Yennefer had existed in a tumultuous almost relationship without boundaries or stability, seeking one another’s company and lazing in long moments of brief happiness that soon ignited and corrupted and were lost.</p><p>It took them years, almost a decade, to grow old enough to tire of the back and forth, to mature enough to talk through what they wanted, who they wanted.</p><p>Even so, Geralt sometimes still found himself floundering, unsure of his place in Yennefer's life, feeling as though they spoke past one another, miscommunicating. It was alright. He would spend tonight alone. Maybe Yen would come back early enough that he would be awake as she slipped out of her heels and into bed, and he could pull her close and hold her against him. Maybe that would be enough.</p><p>As if sensing his thoughts, a spry ginger cat leapt onto the back of the couch to greet him as he chucked off his shoes and dumped his keys. A reminder that he’d always have Roach around for company, at least. Geralt flopped onto the couch with a sigh, allowing the cat to knead her claws into his leg.</p><p>It was while lost in considering where to order takeout and whether he should go back out and pick up beer, maybe call to see if Jaskier was free for a night in, that Yen’s voice rose from somewhere in the apartment, startling him enough that he jostled Roach from his lap.</p><p>“Geralt?” Yen called, voice pitched to carry, followed by a low swear. “Shit, I told you to text me before you left work.”</p><p>He’d forgotten.</p><p>“Sorry,” he said, feeling a prickle of guilt, and he shooed the miffed cat away to head toward their bedroom. The door at the end of the dark hallway was closed, warm light shifting under the door. “You alright?”</p><p>“Shit, I’m not quite-- hang on, hang on, don’t come in.”</p><p>Geralt stood awkwardly in perplexed silence outside the door, increasingly unlikely scenarios for what exactly Yen was up to ringing in his head.</p><p>The alarming thought struck him that she could have a lover in there, quietly stuffing them into their wardrobe or under the bed so that her rendezvous was not discovered. He immediately chided himself for the irrational thought. They had an arrangement for things like that. No reason to sneak around when both of them had had casual flings with others before.</p><p>And she’d asked him not to dawdle coming home. A woman like Yen having an affair would have sent him off on tedious errands. He would have gone without question.</p><p>“Yen,” he said against the door, hand settled on the knob but obeying her demand not to come in, “Yen, what’s going on in there?”</p><p>“Just-- hang on, almost there. <em>Damn it.</em>” A pause where she muttered more curses under her breath. “Ah, ok. There. Come on, Geralt, open the door.”</p><p>He obeyed and swung the door wide, a further question on his lips that died as he took in the sight before him.</p><p>An alarming amount of lit candles covered every flat surface of furniture, their dressers and nightstands and Yen's vanity. He hadn't known they owned any candles, Geralt not fond of the scents and Yennefer not fond of the clutter. These were unscented, the air filled with only the smoke of spent matches, the last of which he watched Yennefer snuff with a flick of her wrist, the walls glowing with shadowed warmth.</p><p>Their bed was not neatly made as it usually was, the covers folded back to reveal a new set of black silk sheets, the candlelight catching a sheen along the fabric scattered with white rose petals.</p><p>But Geralt’s focus pulled immediately from the details of the room to Yennefer as she stepped closer to him. His brain stalled. Her hair fell loose around her bronzed shoulders, impossibly dark and curly, and she wore not much at all, a garment of gauzy fabric that fluttered around her arms, a sheer bra that hid no details of her small breasts and dark nipples, and similar panties with garters that held stockings snug to her thighs.</p><p>Her palms cupped two glasses of red wine, her black-lacquered nails tapping the delicate glass as she offered one out to him. He reached for it mindlessly, all thoughts fled, and drained half of it in a gulp.</p><p>“Um,” Geralt managed, and she huffed a laugh, taking a long sip from her own wine. She was not wearing any makeup, her eyes slightly puffy from the act of removing it. He found her features beautiful in any sense, but like this, he could hardly breathe looking at her. It was how she looked after a long day, curling into bed with him, all armor stripped off.</p><p>“Oh, you should see the look on your face,” she said, and he immediately grimaced. “No, no, it’s very adorable. Truly. Like a lost puppy. Honestly, Geralt, you didn't have any clue about my plans for tonight? Thought I was being far too obvious.”</p><p>“What is this, Yen?” he asked, gesturing.</p><p>She tipped her head and reached out a hand for his. He offered it without question, and she led him to the edge of the bed.</p><p>“This,” she said, “is a romantic gesture.” When he continued to frown in puzzlement at her, she sighed. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Geralt. This is… you know.” She pointed at the candles, the silk sheets, picked up a rose petal and turned it over in her hand. “It’s what people do on Valentine’s Day.”</p><p>“Not very pink,” Geralt managed, utterly lost. “Or red.”</p><p>“Everyone’s a critic,” drawled Yennefer, but something about her voice sounded off. He looked at her, suspecting that he was bungling things, clumsy as always.</p><p>“Yeah but… why?”</p><p>The hurt that darkened Yennefer’s expression was confirmation enough that that had been the wrong question to ask. As she took the wine glass from his hand and set both of them beside the alarming amount of candles flickering on the nightstand, Geralt stomach sank. He had certainly fucked something up here.</p><p>Bafflingly, she reached for his face, touching both small hands to the curve of his cheeks.</p><p>“Oh Geralt,” she sighed, “you told me. Last week or so. You said no one’s ever done anything like this for you.”</p><p>“For… me?” he asked, struggling to remember their conversation. Of course no one had. He'd told her so because it was a fact of his life. For one, no one did those sorts of things for men and certainly not for men like him.</p><p>“Yen, you didn’t have to do this.” He struggled for the right words, looking around the candlelit room as her fingers stroked his cheeks, knowing how easy it would be to say the wrong thing and offend her. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “I don’t need any of this.”</p><p>“Of course, you don’t,” she said, sighing. “I’ve never had any of this either, you know. Never done this before. No one really <em>needs</em> it. Or else we wouldn’t both be standing her mostly well-adjusted.”</p><p>“Well-adjusted?” Geralt snorted at the very thought. He knew Yen also had had an isolated and difficult childhood, the two of them equally fucked up by their traumatic pasts in very different ways. But it was true, now that he thought about it, that lately their life had been more steady, their difficulties easier to navigate, their conversations not so pained and heavy. Not quite what he would call well-adjusted but maybe approaching something of the sort.</p><p>“Quiet. I’m explaining things.”</p><p>Her hands trailed down his face, along his jawline. The way she looked at him as she did so was contemplative, brows drawn together. Her fingers settled on the edges of his lips, tracing along the bow of them, and Geralt resisted a shiver under her touch and attentive gaze.</p><p>“Yen,” he breathed, and she pressed a quieting finger to his lips. “You don't have to--”</p><p>“Let me do this,” she said, eyes flickering up from his mouth to meet his. “Let me give you this. I want to.”</p><p>She took him to bed, the tug of her hand as familiar as ever, and pressed him gently down onto his back on silk sheets. The care with which she touched and directed him felt unfamiliar in ways that settled heavily in his gut and made his chest go tight.</p><p>She whispered her plans against his skin, that she hoped to take him apart slowly and methodically and then lie next to him and drink some of the very expensive wine that was sitting out going to waste and then resume her careful worship of him, treating him with as much cliched romance as she knew how, nowhere near as much as he deserved.</p><p>And she whispered her plans for the morning as well. An elaborate breakfast and a languid day spent in bed for further indulgence.</p><p>How she wanted to see how beautiful he would look, pliant and sated, sprawled out and exhausted beneath her touch. How wonderful she found the contrast of the dark silk sheet and his pale skin, silver hair, how she had picked these sheets just to suit him, careful to choose a fabric that would not offer him any sensory distress, the cool silk whispering smooth against his skin as it warmed.</p><p>Geralt didn't expect for his breath to hitch on a sob, did not recognize the hot pressure at the corner of his eyes for tears until Yen began to wipe them away, shushing him.</p><p>"Oh," she said, looking distressed as she rose above him. She'd barely touched him yet, offering only light kisses and whispered words, and he could not help the fear that she would be disappointed that he interrupted her sensual efforts. "Shit, Geralt, I didn't mean to-- oh you big idiot."</p><p>She kissed him then, deep and solid, doing nothing to quell his tears. He clung to the plane of her back, and she stroked his hair, pulling back from the kiss to tug his face against her throat. The sobs worsened, deepening to a shudder of breath that he failed to control.</p><p>"S-sorry," he muttered against her throat when he found his voice. "I'm-- Yen--"</p><p>"Hush, shh," she said, so gentle in her touch, her kiss to the crown of his head, that he could do nothing but curl into her and lose himself to the emotion that wracked his body.</p><p>He loved her. He had never loved someone with the depth that he loved her and that was a fact he'd long accepted as truth but had never quite been able to grasp the opposite. That she loved him just as deeply.</p><p>Curled against her in the bed, she made him feel small and seen in the same moment. She made him feel as though this was allowed, this was alright, this weakness. Neither of them knew how to do traditional romance, were made uncomfortable by its intricacies, but she had tried, just to make him feel wanted, just to give him something that he had never had.</p><p>He didn't need it, soft things and gentle praises and cliched gestures. She didn't need it either, both of them long ago learning not to need it. Mostly, he didn't even want it, her focused attention too overwhelming and her affectionate care nearly enough shatter him.</p><p>But there was something heady and satisfying in it as well, to hold her in his arms as she kissed his hair over and over, pressed him back to touch her lips against his forehead, the ridge of his nose, his wet cheeks.</p><p>“Stop crying, you big oaf,” she saud with a quick peck against his lips. He shook his head. “Drink some wine, then. Wine helps. Feels very fitting to cry into a glass of wine. I want to make love to you after.”</p><p>Which, of course, worsened the tears again, and Yen shushed him and nudged him into drinking a full glass of wine and then another. The crying never quite eased, swelling again each time he looked at Yen and saw her soft expression, felt the touch of her hands. It should have been embarrassing and some part of it was, and Geralt didn't know if he’d ever cried like this over anything, couldn’t remember the last time he'd cried at all, didn’t wholly understand why it was happening now.</p><p>But he could not bring himself to feel shame, not with Yennefer there so close to him, not with the silk sheets warmed against his skin, the velvet flower petals brushing him as they shifted together.</p><p>Dizzy on the edge of drunkenness, he watched her rise above him, a vision in dark fabric and candlelight, and she did make love to him, as tenderly as either of them were able, as gently as both of them deserved.</p>
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